The Sign of Fear
Authors: R.L. Stine
Prologue
M
atthew Fier laughed and laughed. He couldn't stop. He started laughing days agoâwhen he triumphed over his enemy William Goode.
But triumph came with a price. And Matthew Fier knew it. I am going to laugh myself into my grave, he thought.
Matthew's stomach muscles ached. His throat felt raw and sore. But he laughed on.
He spread a layer of mortar over the top row of bricks. Soon all the walls of his study would be brick from floor to ceiling. No windows. No doors. Nothing but strong bricks to keep them safe.
The Goodes will never be able to reach us, he thought. Not once I wall us in. They will never get their hands on the Fier amulet. They will never get their hands on the power of the Fiers.
Matthew placed another row of bricks in the wet mortar. He pushed himself to work faster. As he worked, he pictured the Fier amulet.
A shiny silver disk with a bird's claw on the front. The claw clutching bright blue stones. And on the back, the words the Fiers lived by:
Dominatio per malum.
Power through evil.
Matthew knew the history of the amulet. It had been passed down from father to son for hundreds and hundreds of years.
The amulet was old. So old he could hardly imagine it. Before the time of recorded history it belonged to a young Celtic spell-caster called Fieran.
The dark power of Fieran's amulet would never dieâas long as one Fier still lived to claim it.
I will die soon, Matthew thought. He laughed as he set the last brick in place, completing the final wall. Yes, soon I will die. But someday another Fier will come. A Fier who will claim the amulet.
Matthew remembered another time when the amulet had to be protected. It had been lost and Matthew reclaimed it from a woman. What was her name?
Matthew felt dizzy. A buzzing sound filled his ears. Images from his past flashed through his mind.
Christina! he thought suddenly. Christina Davis! That was her name.
She had the amulet when I found it.
Matthew drew another breath.
This is the last I will ever take, he realized. He held it for a moment.
A red haze filled his vision.
Fire, he thought. There was a fire the night I
received the amulet from Christina. And a fire the night Fieran first beheld the amulet.
Christina . . . Fieran.
Fire . . . Fier.
The amulet. The amulet. The amulet.
Matthew wheezed as he released his final breath.
Chapter
1
C
hristina Davis stared down into the open grave. Wide and black. It reminded her of a huge mouth.
Oh, Papa! Christina thought. I don't want to be alone. Why did you leave me? A strangled sob escaped her throat.
Hard, bony fingers dug into Christina's arm. “Shame me and you'll live to regret it,” her aunt whispered in her ear. “Displaying so much emotion in public is improper. Control yourself, girl!”
Christina pressed her lips together. Don't cry, she told herself. Not in front of Aunt Jane. She concentrated on taking deep, slow breaths. Gradually, her aunt released her painful grip.
How could I have thought I was alone? Christina asked herself. She closed her eyes for an instant. I will never be alone. There will always be Aunt Jane.
Aunt Jane!
She hates me, Christina thought. Always criticizing. Calling me stupid and lazy. Slapping me when I make even a tiny mistake.
But never in front of Papa. No, in front of Christina's father Aunt Jane acted soft and loving. She waited until she had Christina alone to scream at her. Punish her.
Now she will always have me alone, Christina thought. Now I have no one to protect me.
The minister stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Brethren,” he began in a deep, loud voice. “Let us pray.”
Christina heard a soft rustle as the assembled townspeople clasped their hands before them. She bowed her head with the rest of the congregation. Her eyes focused on the hem of her dark mourning dress. On the square toes of her thick, black shoes.
Dear God in Heaven, she prayed silently. Welcome my father into your loving embrace. And help me find a way to escape.
Christina caught her breath. Yes, that was what she had to do. She had to escape. She had to run away from Aunt Jane.
With a firm “amen,” the prayer ended. The townspeople lifted their heads. Four strong men moved forward. They began to lower Christina's father's coffin into the grave with stout ropes. The wood of the coffin groaned and creaked.
Scalding tears burned Christina's eyes. Oh, Papa, she thought. Things could have been so different. If only you hadn't gotten sick.
Her father's coffin hit the bottom of the grave with a thud. Through the haze of her tears, Christina saw the
minister beckon to her. He pointed one bony finger at a pile of earth alongside the grave.
Christina's stomach clenched. She understood what the minister wanted. She had to throw the first handful of earth into her father's grave.
Christina could feel the eyes of the townspeople upon her. Her legs felt stiff as she moved forward. She bent down, and scooped up a handful of cold, clammy earth. A fat, purple worm wiggled between her fingers.
Christina could almost see the worms' dark bodies sliding in and out of her father's clean, white bones.
She couldn't stand the feel of the dirt on her fingers one more second. She flung it into the grave with all her strength. Then she backed away.
Aunt Jane strode forward. She didn't hesitate as Christina had. She scooped a handful of dirt up and hurled it into the grave with one powerful stroke. Then she moved back to Christina's side.
One by one, the townspeople approached Christina and her aunt and paid their respects. One by one, they threw handfuls of dirt into her father's grave.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Christina mumbled her thanks to the townspeople without listening to what they said. Her eyes locked on the dirt filling her father's grave.
Why does it have to be Papa we bury? she thought. Why couldn't it have been Aunt Jane?
At exactly that instant, the sun went out.
Christina gasped. She stared up into the sky. It boiled with dark shapes. The sound of hundreds of beating wings echoed off the hillsides.
Crows. The entire sky is filled with crows.
Christina opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't move.
A crow dove toward her. Its yellow beak opened wide. It grabbed a thick lock of Christina's hair and yanked it out of her head. She felt warm blood flow down the side of her head and trickle into her ear.
The minister uttered a high, shrill scream. Christina jerked her head toward himâand saw a crow tear a piece of flesh from his cheek.
A woman shoved her way past Christina, dragging her two sobbing children behind her. One of the children fell to the ground. The crows surrounded it, jabbing and pecking. The woman tried to drive them off, screeching and flapping her cloak.
Christina ran to her aid. The crows slashed at her legs, ripping through her black dress and cutting into her flesh. She ignored the pain and pulled the child to his feet. “Run!” she urged.
She heard Aunt Jane begin to pray behind her. Christina turned to face her auntâand saw a huge crow ready to attack.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
The crow hurled itself straight at Christina.
Christina bent down and frantically searched for a weapon. She grabbed a stone that fit perfectly in the palm of her hand. Then she straightened and hurled the stone as hard as she could.
Thunk!
The stone hit the crow on the head. It fell to the ground with one last cry.
But another crow came right behind it. A crow with something shiny and silver grasped in its beak.
Christina scrambled for another rock. No time. The bird was too close. So close Christina could see the gleam of its black eyes.
Christina threw her hands over her head. Her fingers tangled on the silvery object the bird held in its
beak. The bird flapped its wings wildly, trying to escape. She felt the hot, musty air hitting her face.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
The bird tore free and wheeled in the air. Then it dove toward Christina again.
Christina stumbled backward. She felt the earth crumble beneath her feet. Felt herself begin to fall.
Fall into her father's open grave.
2
